Close Up: Joanne Jefferson
by Inherently Flawed
Summary: I don’t think this is what I signed up for when I left law school. Production manager, technical director, girlfriend and lawyer in my spare time. Something’s very wrong with this picture. And yet, I can’t really find reason to complain.


**Disclaimer**: You know the drill.

**Author's notes**: Two reasons behind this story: 1) I wanted to figure out how the heck Joanne ever came into contact with Maureen. 2) People are always saying that Joanne always gets pushed into the background and is just there as an extension of Maureen, if she's there at all. So I decided to give Joanne some love.

My Second 'Close Up'. If anyone can think of any other unloved characters who need a close-up, let me know.

* * *

What am I doing here? I don't think this is what I signed up for when I left law school. Production manager, technical director, girlfriend and lawyer in my spare time. Something's very wrong with this picture. And yet, I can't really find reason to complain. I take that back – plenty of things to complain about, but none of them really bother me. For instance, it's hot up here, and cold at home. However, it's all worth it.

* * *

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Abigail Phelps?"

"Why?"

"Uh, I can't really discuss that with you…"

"Then I don't know where she is."

"Look, I'm her lawyer, I just need to find her." The woman who answered the door smiles widely at me.

"You in a hurry?"

"Well, not exactly a hurry, but I don't have all day. Can you just tell me if she's home?"

"I have no idea, she doesn't live here."

"Then why didn't you just say so?" I'm beginning to get exasperated.

"Because you're cute." Okay, that was a shock.

"Thanks. I need to find Ms. Phelps."

"I need a lunch companion."

"Is that what it's going to take to get you to tell me where Ms. Phelps is?"

"Probably."

"Fine."

"She lives downstairs. I'm Maureen Johnson, by the way." I take her proffered hand.

"Joanne Jefferson."

* * *

I had been so annoyed when my boss told me to handle Abigail Phelps's case, one of the pro bono cases we had take on. Not that the pro bono part bothered me – the fact that I hadn't slept more than three hours a night for the past week because of my case load bothered me. To have another one added to it was just absurd, but what could I do?

It's not like I even had time to go out to lunch that day. But Maureen was charming… and attractive, to say the least. So maybe I'd just forfeit another hour of sleep tonight. I'd survive. Not to mention that I hadn't eaten a decent meal in two weeks. Alright, so I was trying to convince myself, but it's not like it took much to do so.

Lunch with Maureen was interesting. Mostly in a good way. After I finally got to talk to Abigail, I thought briefly about just leaving, but only briefly. Then I went back upstairs to find Maureen again. We walked to a nearby café, the Life, which seemed to be a popular haunt of hers, if the fact that she and the wait staff knew each other by name was any indication. Then, to my great surprise, we proceeded to click like I hadn't clicked with anyone in years.

I laugh as I see her jumping around the stage, working her audience into a frenzy. I'm doing my best to keep the light trained on her, but she's not making it easy. Maureen's never been one for easy, though. Tonight we are protesting the transformation of one of the apartment buildings on Avenue C into an up-and-coming music studio. Not only does it mean that everyone in that building must find another place to live, it also means that those Corporate Americans will be coming down here all the time, then will complain about the state of Alphabet City, demand changes and parking lots, and it's all downhill from there. According to Maureen, that is.

* * *

"Joanne, sweetie, what's this I heard about you quitting the firm?"

"Oh. Well… I quit the firm."

My parents were so worried when I stopped taking so many cases and started spending more time with Mo and her friends. Eventually I did end up quitting the firm, since they wanted me to work and I had no real desire to do so. There was other, much more interesting stuff going on with Maureen. I started to take a bunch of pro bono cases, though, which made them happy enough; they'd always been big on helping 'those less fortunate'. I decided not to tell them that half the 'cases' I told them about were me springing either Maureen or one of her friends from jail. Not that I minded, it gave me a chance to practice talking fast and smooth, something I'd always been good at anyway. And whatever they'd done to land them in jail always turned out to be worth it.

I think the commitment ceremony calmed them down, since it convinced them that I wasn't just screwing around and slumming. Of course, our uh… 'little spat' kind of ended that. But we eventually got over that. Took a few months and the death of a friend, but we got over it.

* * *

Somehow I've ended up here, production manager, technical director, girlfriend, roommate and lover to Maureen, of all people. I look around and spot our friends in the crowd, near the stage. Only Mark, Collins and one or two people from Life Support have made it tonight though – Mimi wasn't feeling well, so Roger stayed home to take care of her. We're all getting worried about her now.

Maureen takes her final bow and struts off the stage to the sound of a satisfied audience and I begin to shut down the stage lights. I will meet her after the Space empties out and we will hook up with Collins and Mark, then go for a celebratory dinner, another evil successfully protested. Then we will walk home, chilly from the New York winter but warm from the adrenalin, excitement, and many glasses of alcohol we are sure to consume. And tomorrow we will celebrate our one-year anniversary.

So bring on the wine, waiter. Here's to the life I left behind, someone else can take it. Here's to bad heating and a warm bed, here's to Maureen, our friends, and 'slumming'. To production managers, performance artists, survivors, to life. Here's to you, Maureen, and here's to us.


End file.
